"scarfing" poems
I think
My tolerance for ********
Has reached its breaking point.
Now I spend my lunch hours
Squirreled away in the smoking room
Lost in tunes
Locked in with my thoughts
Scarfing down
One cigarette after another
And writing these ****** poems.
I don't care to hear
About the inanities of your sad lives.
It's all so bleak.
I feel most alone in a crowd.
I suppose
We all have our ways
Of coping
With the affliction of life.
Many seek refuge
In the mindless chatter of sheep
Others find their release
Balls-deep in a wet hole
Or tasting blood and sweat
In the boxing ring
Or the warm, comforting embrace
Of alcohol.
Such blissful escape, all of them.
So what's wrong
With the hallowed cloisters
Of my mind?
**** the lot of you
With your petty dramas
******* hypocrisies
******* noises
Summoning up
The vilest contempt
Slumbering in me.
I am enough.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
I forgot what it was like
to stay up past the point of exhaustion,
just to see my phone light up
with your name on it.
It makes me feel special again.
Like we're the only ones awake
in this bustling world.
A secret kept between
me
you
and the atmosphere.
Thinking of us and the asphalt
and how amazing it felt
at 3AM.
Streetlights dancing on our skin,
tracing your ears
and shoulders
and other places I like to nuzzle.
The pavement
reading the traces of your fingertips
on my back
like braille.
Every breath vibrating in the air.
Using each other as a blanket,
wrapping my limbs around you.
Scarfing up and down the road.
Sinking into this.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
There's a black hole inside of me
A growing emptiness.
Scarfing down smiles
Absorbing anger
Swallowing sadness.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 7:32 PM UTC
summer nights are best spent with you.
greedily scarfing down ice cream,
watching our feet touch the sky from old playground swings.
and the ones in your mom’s car
-the soft music, the hard music
singing to melodies that we’ll never know.
each night, we feel each’s wishes.
i, i want to give you fairs, and cotton candy,
and hold your hand as we walk along the sidewalk.
i want to twirl you around,
because though we’re very summer friends
i want to keep you forever.
our feet scrape the gravel,
toes tap the sidewalk,
noses breathe in the air.
distinctly, i remember something
-us in a concert,
our shoulders brushing as we danced.
i remember laughing with you in the water,
because i hated being short,
so naturally i had to climb you.
i remember every year
we laugh away these nights,
until they become memories.
they, were, definitely,
polaroid worthy.
you’d give a blank look.
and then spring would come again,
and we’d be sitting in your mom’s car,
watching the sunset again.
remember this?
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:38 PM UTC
He was in a cold sweat during a heatwave
She had hot flashes during a cold snap
Fever blisters, heat blisters
Frost bite and heat stroke
Take a cold shower together
Then put on your street clothes
Feast your eyes
Set your sights
Impeccably punctual
The rag tag constituents
*** rush the 'ol drawing board for bragging rights
A jail break in the making
Drinking rat tails at last call
Scarfing down pickled pigs feet
It's hit or miss
It's a leap year
Locking horns with one another
Ornery
Putting forth an esteemed ultimatum
Swing and a miss
Hock your watch
And mind the store
Don't ask don't tell
It's a work in progress
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
His lips will taste different than any lips I've ever consumed
They always do
The most savory treat that I've had the pleasure of eating
Devouring.
Grabbing hold of, grasping firmly, and just scarfing down what is ultimately delicious
What is entirely mine
A snack that few have inhaled
That few have feasted upon
The perimeter that encompasses the area to which he makes me feel such bliss
Causing me to fall limp on my knees
Begging for more
Craving.
Pleading.
That I desire becomes every thing I've ever deserved
All I've ever wanted
Paralyzed by lust, he places his lips in bearings I have only dreamed of
Hallucinations struck into me by love itself
Debilitating.
Numbing.
Leaving me raw and defenseless
An unconcealed breast shimmering in the light cast from the sunset
Peaking through the drapes
The feeling of fragility keeping me taut
Strong.
Beautiful.
As he takes over my body
I lose my sense of self
Only to have it come back to me another day
Greater.
Grander.
More ***** than pure
When he places his hands on me I feel more alive than I have in years
And suddenly, there is no such thing as insecure
I am lovely
Gorgeous.
Better than any of the rest
No one else he skims will feel softer on his fingertips.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 12:31 AM UTC
It was a ritual scarfing
spiced-eggs at the subbase,
then heading up
to the mountaintop
to check on
the cumulous-situation.
From the banana house,
one can see for eternity
the tips of Tortola & beyond
& grow fond of such splendor.
The beauty of such moments
can sink deep & stir hearts.
Even the stoutest of pirates
can cry behind the patch,
get snatched by this passion,
reveal his hidden treasure.
My blood-eyes always
seemed mesmerized,
pleasured
by the rum-filled hours
spent down on Back Street
before each maiden voyage.
The trips to Drake's Seat
to confer with the
dreadlocked-donkey man
were always my final stop.
For he had select bumblegum-ganja,
homegrown at market prices,
to change perspective
& buccaneers ya know,
certainly need that fix.
Those warm Trade Winds
whipped through
the Inward Passage
while lobsters boiled
on the shore,
and there, raised up
high on the edge,
my stiletto kniving sapphires,
I understood
the true meaning of freedom,
riding supersonic
under golden suns,
in a world
so alone & starving.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
Do you see me?
I’ve been devouring poetry,
by the line,
by the page,
by the book.
No poem has been overlooked.
I’ve been feasting
on free verse,
blank verse,
perverse
cascades
of stanzas and rhymes,
a banquet of words
on which to dine.
I’ve been swallowing ad nauseam,
scarfing down similes,
masticating metaphors,
gormandizing poems aplenty.
Rhyming couplets,
I’ve contained them.
Sonnets and epics,
ingested.
Lyrical odes,
digested.
A thousand lines
to make you swoon.
I’ve tasted them all—
the potent and
the picayune.
Villanelles, check.
Sestinas too.
I even hiccupped
my own haiku:
Icicles melt on glazed gutters.
Water drips, prolific, bits of sunlit seeds
promising lilacs below the eaves.
Do you see me?
I hate to ask, but I’m afraid
something poetic has happened.
my head is a tureen
brimming with stars
my arms are utensils
in a darkened drawer
my chest, a room of last resort
my feet are stressed, in short
Such prosody is blinding.
Can you tell me why
my eyes are bleak?
Or why I no longer
blink?
I sense the sear of fluent tears
composing on my cheek:
endless drops, black beads,
consumptive stains of ink.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:22 AM UTC
The woman, she was the catalyst,
She sat beside me and lured me in,
All concerned nods,
And a single, delectable cookie.
Anyway, it all started
When she asked the fatal question
"Are you all alone dear?"
"All alone in the world,"
I reply, voice tremoring,
"My family, they died
Just over a month ago."
"Oh dear," she
spluttered, clearly
disturbed.
I go on, inventing
blood baths,
poisonings,
diseases,
gruesome ends
that only come to mind
With youth.
After I was neatly done
killing off family members
One by one,
Or three in the case of my
imaginary aunt's
still born triplets,
I sighed.
"It's just so awfully hard.
I don't get very many treats at
my foster parents.
Could I perhaps try a piece
of your cookie?"
"Of course" she replies,
"Here, take it all."
thinking she was helping
another lost soul.
After scarfing it,
(it was delicious, absolutely perfect)
we reached our stop
I thanked her,
the kind, misguided soul,
I stepped off
Into my loving parents embrace.
"Don't you know,
I had the worst trip.
Sat next to this fussy old woman.
I could really use a treat."
So spun the next web.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
all the preparing
for the big show
the making things perfect
the displaying of stuff just so
there's the
*mixing
blending
shaking
seasoning
pouring
cooking
boiling
baking
frosting
whipping
cutting
trimming
spooning*
followed by the
*devouring
wolfing
scarfing
cramming
munching
chomping
noshing
guzzling
slurping
swallowing*
and ending with
*burping
hiccuping
passing gas*
and passing out
happy thanksgiving
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
It's two in the morning,
And nothing glimmers with any sort of light.
The ceiling lamp is buzzing its way into oblivion, and my computer screen won't stop screaming my face off as words continue to recreate themselves all over this paperwork I like to call poetry.
There are clothes on the floor.
A lump that literally states "I'm a bachelor with no tastes";
All my clean clothes are unfolded.
I take time for ******** pageantry, as if video games, film, and other likewise media are my lasting friends.
"Look at me,
I know so much!"
He kindly curtseys to the judge
as he skips away so gayly.
An "Always Sunny" Marathon, at my place maybe?
He says like a Jewish Decapodian, scarfing down some bay leaf.
Just kidding, I'm way too poor for that.
I'm supposed to have my **** together;
I'm supposed to buy a house!
I scream, I rant, I rave, I shout!
Until another stupid piece of **** ***** me a good one,
Right on the mouth.
I mumble for weeks; I continue on.
Let us all sing, again, the soldier's song:
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!'
Oh God, what have you done?
Brought politics into a world that had none?
Forever tainted this bill of mine,
For it's possible that it 'twas not designed
for a working world,
for a human social structure,
for a being who's supposed to be good.
We get a mockery each time,
Spit dereliction, each line.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Dear Leslie,
This year was the first in ten years that I didn't tell you happy birthday, that I didn't even speak to you at all. It was an unremarkable day, special to very few (since you share your secrets with only a handful of souls) and I know, before me, it wasn't special to you. But our friendship made it so, our beautifully, tragic, amazing friendship. All the trips to the movies and running down Main St. in the rain. Scarfing sushi in your car while we talked about our day. Buying too many Redvines and eating peanut butter cups until our teeth hurt. . .those memories were treasured on your birthday.
For a decade, we celebrated every December, our dark and twisty version of Gilmore Girls as we mooned over Hollywood stars and wrote out all our fears and worries else our hearts exploded from the weight of having to contain them. (Because, God knows, we couldn't tell our mothers anything without receiving ridicule.)
Things changed after she took her life, and you called me in tears. It was the day after your birthday and we hadn't seen each other in awhile and you were away at college, but that didn't change the fact that I was your first and second and third call after you got the news.
I picked up the phone, and everything changed. She was gone, and had made a mausoleum of your birthday.
I hated her for it. I still do. If I believed in magic, I'd bring her back just to **** her for you. For stealing all the birthday memories we'd shared and built together, a fragile fort against the destruction her very presence brought in your life.
I'm sorry she ruined your birthday for you, and I'm sorry we haven't spoken in months. I hate the distance between us, and it feels like a deeper chasm than any heartbreak I've experienced. Blood may come and go, and so may romance. But our friendship was supposed to withstand all of that, because we had each other's backs.
I still have yours, even though we don't speak anymore
Even though I didn't wish you a happy birthday this year.
Forgive me.
Con amor,
Your Friend
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Choke it down though you know you don't want it
Cram the calories into the bottomless pit
With stress and starvation comes restrictive cravings
Ice cream for meals and depleted savings
Feel the pain in your stretched out belly
Scarfing down peanut butter and jelly
You're a pig and you know it
But you can't control it
Your clothes hug you close
As your stomach continues to bloat
Five, six, seven pounds up
When will it be enough
When will you realize you're a product of your own destruction
If you skip each meal tomorrow you can start reconstruction
The thin girls stare and laugh at your look
One more plate of pasta is all that it took
You're disgusting and vile
Put yourself here on trial
Tell yourself to succumb to the voices
Starting tomorrow make better choices
Starve yourself daily
You'll love yourself maybe
Nothing like the feeling of an empty stomach
Your own strung up puppet
Bones through skin is a beautiful thing
It's a reason to get up on the scale and sing
Dropping like boulders with each passing hour
Making up excuses like "I'm allergic to flour"
Whatever the condition
You know your mission
Start the cycle however vicious
Ignore the foods that are delicious
Indulge in water and a baby food diet
If they ask "who wants seconds?" stay quiet
Because soon you'll be pretty and fit your summer attire
You can't wait any longer now it's dire
The flavor will fade and you'll hate yourself more
How about skip the cake and you'll even the score
Till the number's brand new
And your bones pierce right through
Don't stop till you're nothing
Put your shoes on get running
Embrace the disorder
Create your own border
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
boo hoo fatty, your love life is poor
what did you glut all those ding dongs for
you cant find a man who will stay anymore
look at that thin girl with the super fine ***
while you gorge on the sugar water glass after glass
slothing through life as a blubbering mass
yes, its your ******* fault
your over eating wont hault
so digest my insults with a bucket of salt
put down the diet pill
roll up on to a treadmill
and stop scarfing more than your fill
its just not attractive
when your jaws are over active
from a "10" your shamu suit is detractive
lets be realistic
cow ******* is sadistic
a hundred pounds or so should do the trick
its the gross parts
like the arm pit farts
and the stretch marks laid out like fault line charts
back in the day
before it was cool to be gay
to the fat chicks we said no way
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
These sounds of silence
Rumble and roar
I’m in a constant state of questioning
Asking what love is,
Filling in the gaps between all my questions
With the things we saved for March
Relishing in the idea of spring
And what it means to bloom
Peeling away at citrus,
Reaching for the plums and nectarines
In the icebox, scarfing down cooled melon
Picking at peonies and daffodils
Thinking about tea but hating its taste
I was never a morning person
But the sun these days is so new
But it’s when the winter creeps back
And I awake to a morning frost
Bits of past, pieces of December
Pine trees and heating cars
I remember the worth of remembering
And the reality of how time moves
And how all these questions
Sprinkle down with snow, rain,
sun rays, or leaves
never leaving, never eased
only knowing that I don’t know
and that seasons don’t return; they just pass
Mar 25, 2024
Mar 25, 2024 at 1:52 PM UTC